In Stride
by Her Name Is Erika
Summary: Nicole will take everything in stride, and she is so accessorizing. Nicole-centric. For Brian.


**A/N: This is my third oneshot in three days. It's a Nicole centric one. I was going to do the Zogan one, but I want to flesh that out more, because the idea of it of kind and twisted and intricate. This idea's just easier, and expands on Nicole having to do with not going back to PCA, but in a different way. I don't think anyone's ever done this before. And a side note, Nicole's mom's name is officially Melanie to me. I like it that way. Don't ask.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Kübler-Ross Model or anything you might recognize. **

* * *

**DENIAL**

* * *

Staying in Kansas is most definitely not one of her summer plans at all.

Spending her sophomore year there isn't what she really has in mind.

Nicole doesn't need therapy because boys are made to stare at, and flirt with. Why the Jimmy Choo does she brush the brunette hair methodically with a pretty good schedule that works if she can't smile flirtatiously while flipping said hair discretely? She buys a pretty pink and white floral bikini to wear to the beach and sandals to match.

And what in the Vera Wang is OMGD anyway? It's quite stupid. That psychologist should at least diagnose Nicole with something she does have. Something gross like gingivitis even though she flosses three times a day, and makes sure her smile is perfect with Berry Berry Lip Shine. Or something heinous like split ends and a badly done manicure.

She's not boy-crazy at all, because at least she has standards.

At lease, she knows the difference between a gross, dumb boy and the totally cute seventeen-year-old coffee barista with the dimples when she smiles at him, and the freakin' dreamy green eyes.

He's so not from Kansas.

But Nicole definitely doesn't pay attention to little details like that. So what if his name is Todd, and he's available? So what if she uses her mother's car to drive up there for a mocha latte even though she sometimes doesn't want one.

Nicole is not boy-crazy. If anything, she actually _boy-savvy_.

And she deserves the new swimsuit because California boys are so much worth flirting with.

If they're any justice up there, she'll get a perfect view on the tennis court again for her dorm room with Zoey and Lola again for her sophomore year.

Melanie walks idly past her daughter's open room, wide laundry basket under her arm. But the sight of her daughter is a swimsuit that is pretty no doubt, catches her eye. Melanie's face turns into one of confusion so she backtracks her footsteps.

"Nicole, honey? What are you doing?"

"Oh, hey Mom!" the bubbly brunette answers, and twirls around as if in a fashion before placing her hands on her hips and strikes a pose. "So, what do you think? I got this at _Strawberry Republic_ on sale, and the shoes at _Clara's_. Is this beach outfit cute or what?"

Nicole seems to be trapped in denial, Melanie thinks with an almost invisible frown.

It seems cruel for her to rob her only child of the happiness and excitement she's currently feeling. Nicole has this happy twinkle shining in her eyes, and her grin brighter than usual. Melanie can't pull the rug from under Nicole's feet. Besides, it'll sink in a couple of days that she won't be return to PCA. Like every mother would do, she bends the truth. It's not a complete lie – but Melanie is worried Nicole won't be able to handle the complete truth as well.

It'll hit her in a couple of days anyway, and she'll be able to prepare for her daughter's inevitable meltdown.

Melanie smiles warmly, cupping Nicole's face tenderly with her free hands, "It's lovely, baby. I'm going to finish up the laundry, and then when I'm done, we'll have your favourite for dinner."

"Chinese take-out?"

"Chinese take-out."

"Okay!" Nicole replies, happily. "I'm going to organize my outfits now."

"Have fun." Melanie says, one final time before she leaves for daughter's bedroom and heads for the basement.

The next couple of days in the Bristow house are going to be hard, even though Nicole denies that.

* * *

**ANGER**

* * *

It only takes a couple of days for Nicole to actually realize that she isn't going back to PCA.

It takes only a couple of days for reality to give her quite a rude awakening sans loud alarm or angry, and maybe psychotic roommate. Reality slaps her pretty face when her floral pink swimsuit is in the front of her closet as she always has. When Nicole sees that swimsuit, her resolve to go back to PCA and preferably hit the beach gets a little stronger.

This is until she comes in from visiting relatives, and she finds the school uniform for St. Anne's Academy For Girls splayed across her bed. It's a navy blue with a white shirt. There is some probably mismatched crest on the top right corner of the aforementioned shirt.

And maybe the skirt's sort of cute, but those knee high socks aren't. They're tacky. That's it. They're just icky and so gross, she just might get mad. And when she's so grossed out by something as tacky as this, Nicole gets mad.

Which in turn triggers the crying, and she just might cry herself endless this time.

"Mom!" she sobs, tears running down her face. Her cheeks are deep red, and Nicole doesn't know to cry or become thoroughly enraged. She hasn't been this annoyed since pumps make a comeback. As hideous as pumps are to her, Nicole never reaches angry heights such as this. "It's plaid! Do you know how _gross_ plaid is? The psychologist doesn't know what she's saying anyway. I'm not boy-crazy or whatever! Does OMGD _even_ exist?"

"Honey, your grades are that great, and you use my drives to go see that same coffee barista every day," Melanie reasons, going out to touch her daughter and make her understand. She's never seen Nicole this angry at her, but the fact that the teen recoils like her clear, de-clogged pored skin has been unexpectedly burned. "It's just a change of pace for you. Maybe a new environment will help you put things into perspective."

"But I belong at PCA. It's not fair!" Nicole defends, sniffling. She turns pleading eyes to her mother, and truthfully, Melanie can't ignore the pleading, the silent begging, but she lets a sigh slowly push past her lips, and gets stern.

"No, Nicole," her voice stern. "I'm a parent, and at the end of the day, I know what's best for you. You'll be starting St. Anne's this fall. I'm sorry, but you're going to have to learn to like it."

Melanie Bristow allows all of her resolve to crumble when she closes the bedroom door. It's okay because she's doing the right thing. Definitely not now, but Nicole will definitely thank her and be appreciative.

On the side of the door, Nicole frowns and throws a pretty pink heeled shoe against the door, loudly.

It really isn't fair, she thinks bitterly as more rage-induced tears flow.

* * *

**BARGAINING**

* * *

Okay, so Nicole behaves a little irrationally but luckily she has about a week to calm down and "apologize" to her pink heeled shoe for chucking it against her bedroom door with her quite good arm.

The fact that she has a good arm, and has an uncanny ability for projectiles is established. Nicole sighs, coming down the staircase with a cheery disposition and a new resolve. Her mother's in the kitchen, the dining table already set, and she's at work tossing the salad with two large wooden forks. The smell of the famous family marinara sauce is being stirred.

"Hey Mom," Nicole greets with the smile she shops to win Melanie over.

"Hey yourself. Carry the salad over that over to the table, will you?"

"Sure."

Nicole complies, despite a nail being slightly chipped. She frowns slightly when the thought of having to re-touch her pinky nail. But the dark, unhappy cloud of moving from sunny PCA to a uniform-wearing, completely suckish, all-girl school (that should be a felony) looms nearer. Setting the clear bowl of salad at the table, Melanie sets the basket of garlic bread down. It smells great.

"Mom, I'm ready to be a mature adult."

"Really?"

"Oh, totally. The last week has been suckish, and plain bad, but if you just listen and hear me out, I'm sure everyone can be happy."

Melanie sighs, merely brushing away the residue of her cooking – some flour that clung to her apron and few meat sauce stains. It is a long-shot but Nicole prays this works.

"What if I go back to PCA, and get good grades? I actually want to go to beauty school in California," the petite brunette's lips turn into a pout. "Kansas is too boring."

"Which is why I stand corrected. New surroundings will help you appreciate here more, sweetie."

"Can't you just hold off on whatever paperwork parental thingy you do?" Nicole begs, clasping her hands together in a last ditch attempt to get her mother to understand that the uniform for St. Anne's is hideous and she'll actually be on the first flight back to California.

"No," the single mother – who has remained that way Nicole's father dies five years ago – shakes her softly. Truthfully, ever since Steve dies from cancer, Nicole becomes her everything. She knows how much Nicole would love to go back to PCA, back to all of her friends and what she's used to. Sure, her daughter has an eye for the good-looking, but her future is more important now. "I'm afraid it's not up for discussion anymore. I want you to have a future. Maybe someday, but for now, going back to PCA is a no."

Nicole's appetite instantly dies like the trend of cardigan sweaters.

Apparently "mature" isn't in the vocabulary today.

And Nicole's pinky nail has been broken.

Bargaining and discussion is terrible. That's why Nicole swears never to try it again.

* * *

**DEPRESSION**

* * *

Nicole sighs, trying on the uniform for the first time.

There's only two weeks until the starts of the school year. Her navy blue plaid kilt reaches just above her knees. Her knee-high socks are the same colour, and there are black shoes on her feet. To complete the look, a loose tie around her neck with the standard navy blue but with a splash of a grey and white to turn it into a plaid pattern.

Sure, she'll look absolutely amazing with her long, straight, brunette tresses in long wave-like curls but what's the point? There isn't a dash of pink, or glitter. There's nothing to reflect the bubbly, sparkly personality Nicole embodies. But what really is the point of it all?

"Oh, Nicole, you look great."

"Yeah," she agrees, and her smile turns into a deep frown, and her voice is all crackly and teary. If crying is a national sport, Nicole is definitely in the running. She plops down on her bed and Melanie kneels to her daughter's level.

"Honey, I know you're sad," she wipes the clear tears away. She's more than sad – she calls Zoey and lets her know that she won't be coming to PCA. It's the hardest thing she has to since deciding between blue and periwinkle. It's the same. It's like saying that fuchsia and pink is the exact same, but it's _just_ not. "But you're going to love it."

No, I won't, she thinks, more tears sliding down her porcelain cheek.

Nicole cries on her mother's shoulder, even though she kind of enjoys the feeling of her hair softly being stroked.

She's too depressed too care.

Nicole's just thankful for the bottles of Blix in the fridge and the unpopped popcorn in the cabinets.

* * *

**ACCEPTANCE**

* * *

It's the first day of school. First day of sophomore year.

So, after two weeks of crying, and drowning her sorrows in strawberry Blix, Nicole's gained some kind of perspective. After all, she likes to think that going to St. Anne's isn't temporary and someday she'll make her grand return to PCA. It's the first time in a while since she smiles genuinely. Standing in front of her full-length mirror, Nicole gets the reflection of her brunette hair being long and wavy, stopping at her mid-back.

To make herself feel better, Nicole stops by a little boutique with her mother to buy a couple of hair accessories and non-related hair accessories. Little sparkly blue clips are in her hair. A couple bangles lightly jingle when she moves her arm upon contact with each other. Her lips gleam with a thin layer of lip gloss.

Nicole sighs, doing a mirror check on everything – loose tie and all – before Melanie calls for her downstairs.

She isn't all to happy, even though her mother makes her pancakes in the shape of the letter _N_.

"Nicole!"

"Coming, Mom!" she yells in reply, and grabs the black tote containing all of her essentials and her books. She walks out, letting the door close behind her.

Nicole Bristow isn't sure of what'll happen at St. Anne's but the hope of returning to PCA is still there.

Did she mention Melanie lets her drive the car, while her mother takes the van?

Nicole will take everything in stride, and she is _so_ accessorizing.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, there's my Nicole-centric oneshot. **

**My brain's a little scattered because there's another oneshot clouding my judgment, but this was written for Boris Yeltsin (Brian). I know you like Nicole's character more than the others so I write something centered on her. Thanks for sticking with me for the past two or three years. I appreciate that, so this is for you. I hope you enjoy it. **

**Okay, I'm brimming over with like white, hot inspiration for my Zogan oneshot. My source of inspiration of the Zogan one was from AFI. So, I've been itching to write it. I'm off to change some deadlines around and stuff. **

**Feddback makes me happy. Leave some. At least there will be no wrapping paper. **

**Review. **

**-Erika**


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